_An Encounter_
Barbara had been writing a letter to Dick Thornton. She was seated on
the side of her cot bed in a tiny room high up in a tower, with only one
small window overlooking the courtyard below.
Although it was well into the twentieth century, this room was just such
an one as might have concealed the hapless Amy Robsart in the days of
Lord Leicester and Kenilworth Castle. But although Barbara had not to
suffer the thought of a faithless lover, at the present moment she was
feeling extremely sorry for herself.
Russia had no charms for her as it appeared to have for Mildred Thornton
and Nona Davis. She disliked its bleakness, its barbarity and the
strange, moody people it contained. Of course she realized that there
was another side to Russian life, before the present war its society was
one of the gayest in the world. But these days, when the Germans were
driving the Russian army backward and even further backward behind their
own frontiers, were days for work and silence, not social amusements.
Moreover, Barbara knew that she could never expect to have any part in
Russian social life when her mission lay among the wounded. So far she
had met only other Red Cross nurses, a few physicians and the soldiers
who required her care. But really Barbara was not so foolish as to
resent these conditions; she was merely homesick and anxious to see Dick
Thornton, and if not Dick, then Eugenia.
France had not seemed so far away from the United States and she had
loved France and its brave, gay people. She had understood them and
their life. Almost she had envied Eugenia her future possession of the
old chateau and the little "Farmhouse with the Blue Front Door." But
then Eugenia had seemed to find France as strange and uncongenial as
Barbara now considered Russia.
Even after her marriage to Captain Castaigne, Eugenia had confessed to
the younger girl how she dreaded her own inability to become a
Frenchwoman. She still feared that she would never be equal to the
things Captain Castaigne had a right to expect of her, once the war was
over. Eugenia had merely cared too much to be willing to give him up,
but was too wise to expect that her problems would end with marriage.
So with this thought Barbara Meade finally removed a tear from the end
of her nose. It had trickled quite comfortably out of her eyes, but as
her nose was somewhat retroussé, it had hesitated there.
After all, an American marriage was best for an American girl! Barbara
tried to convince herself that she should be rejoicing instead of
lamenting. Certainly Dick was the most agreeable and to be desired
person in the entire world. But then there was another side to this!
Had he not been, perhaps she would not at this moment be missing him
so terribly and at all the moments. Letters were so infrequent!
Mrs. Thornton might positively refuse to allow her son to marry
so insignificant a person, and Dick forget all about her!
But in the midst of this last and most harrowing thought, fortunately
Nona Davis came into the room.
She looked excited, but on catching sight of her friend's face her
expression changed.
"Good heavens, Barbara!" she began. Then the next moment she walked over
and tilted the other girl's chin with her hand.
"You are just homesick, aren't you, and longing for some one who shall
be nameless? You frightened me at first; I feared you had heard dreadful
news. Come, get your coat and have a walk with me. We have both nearly
two hours of freedom and I've permission to go outside the
fortifications."
The other girl shook her head and shivered.
"It is too cold, Nona dear, and besides, I'm afraid. I know the Russians
are said to be holding the line of fortifications beyond us, but then
the Germans may break through at any time. Goodness knows, I don't see
what you and Mildred find so fascinating in Russia! I am afraid I am not
brave enough to have come with you."
While Barbara was arguing Nona had taken her coat from its hook on the
wall and was putting it about her friend.
"Yes, I know all that, but just the same you are coming for a walk. As
long as you are here you must keep strong enough to do your work. But
there, I can't scold half so well as Eugenia. I suppose if Dick belonged
to me I should be as wretched as you are without him. You are a dear to
have stuck by Mildred and me during this Russian work. But do come, I've
something really interesting to tell you. Perhaps you may feel a tiny
bit less lonely afterwards."
In the meantime Nona had put on her own coat and cap and the two girls
started. They had to walk down a narrow stone corridor and then a long
flight of winding stone steps to reach the courtyard below.
To the right the soldiers were drilling. One could hear the harsh
clatter of their heavy boots and the crash of their rifles when they
touched the frozen earth.
It had turned unexpectedly cold, and yet without a spoken word both
girls stopped and stared about them as soon as they reached the
outdoors.
Certainly the scene formed an extraordinary setting for two young
American girls!
The sky was gray, and although it was only early autumn, there were
occasional flurries of snow.
Behind them stood a long, low line of stone and iron fortifications with
enormous guns mounted at intervals along the walls. At one end was an
observation tower, where one could see miles on miles of trenches
stretching in a kind of semicircle before the fortifications. Should the
enemy destroy the trenches the Russian soldiers could then mass behind
the fort and afterwards, if necessary, accomplish their retreat. For a
small force could delay the enemy through the strength of their position
and the use of their big guns.
Sheltered behind breastworks of earth, barbed wire entanglements and a
natural protection of trees, the girls could barely discern the
aerodrome. In this place were situated the machine shops for building
and repairing aeroplanes, and also from here their flights and returns
could be made.
Yet in spite of these signs of active warfare, the place was curiously
silent. Barbara felt puzzled. Only the endless tramp, tramp of the
soldiers at drill and an occasional guttural command. The noises from
the inside of the fort never penetrated to the outside. But then these
Russians were a quiet people.
Within a few moments the two girls showed their order to the sentry and
were allowed to pass beyond the gate. They then started on their walk
along the same road which Nona had traveled alone several days before.
But actually this was the first chance the girls had for talking over
Nona's experiences together. True, they shared the same bedroom, so that
on her return Nona had given a brief report. But really they had been
too tired at night to grasp the situation.
Now naturally Barbara thought her companion meant to talk of her recent
experience. Neither one of them attempted conversation at the beginning
of their walk, for the main road was as filled with supplies of every
kind that were being hauled to the great fort, as it had been on the day
of Nona's solitary excursion. But indeed this was a daily occurrence.
So, as soon as possible, the girls got away from the road into a lane
that was lined with peasants' huts. This lay in an opposite direction
from the path Nona had previously taken. She had no desire to meet her
former acquaintance again until she had made up her mind as to her own
attitude toward her.
Neither Barbara nor Mildred had so far been able to give her any
definite advice.
Mildred really refused to consider that the older woman could have known
Nona's mother years before in their own country. Her story was too
incredible to be believed.
Barbara had not taken this same point of view. At the present moment
she was going over the situation in retrospection. In the first place,
it was absurd to think that any train of circumstances could be
impossible in such a surprising world. The woman, whom they had once
known as Lady Dorian and whom they now were to think of by another name,
had evidently once been a woman of wealth and culture, no matter what
her present condition of poverty. She seemed to have traveled everywhere
and she may of course have met Nona Davis' family. There was actually no
reason why she should not have known them, Barbara concluded in her
sensible western fashion. Doubtless when Nona allowed the older woman to
explain the situation it would not be half so mysterious as it now
appeared. The really remarkable thing was, not that the other woman
should be familiar with Nona's mother's history, but that her own
daughter should be so in ignorance.
For her part she intended to advise Nona to listen to whatever their
former friend wished to tell her. But just as Barbara opened her lips
to offer this advice, her companion spoke.
"Barbara, you have been in such a study you haven't asked for the piece
of news I have to give you. Do you remember almost quarreling with me
because I did not wish to write a note to the English fellow we once
knew when we were in Brussels, after you discovered him in prison
there?"
Barbara nodded, her mind immediately distracted from her former train of
thought.
"Lieutenant Hume? Why, do you know what has become of him?" she
inquired.
In reply Nona took a letter out of her pocket.
"I had a note from him today. You see, after your lecture I continued
writing him in prison every now and then during the year we spent in
Belgium. Just occasionally he was allowed to send me a few lines in
reply. Then a long time passed and I had almost forgotten him. Now he
writes to say that by an extraordinary freak of fortune he has been
returned home. It seems that he became very ill, so when the Germans
decided to agree on an exchange of prisoners, he and our little blind
Frenchman, Monsieur Bebé, were both sent back to their own lands.
Lieutenant Hume does not say what is the matter with him. His letter
isn't about himself. He is really tremendously anxious to hear news of
us. He has just learned of Eugenia's marriage to Henri Castaigne, and he
thinks we are pretty foolhardy to have offered our services for nursing
in Russia."
Instinctively Barbara held her companion's arm in a closer grasp.
"Far be it from me to disagree with him!" she murmured.
For her attention had just been arrested by the noise of a horse's hoofs
approaching. Both girls looked up to see a young Cossack soldier riding
toward them. He sat his horse as though he were a part of it, his feet
swinging in long stirrups and his hands barely touching the reins.
Both girls felt a stirring sense of admiration. But to their surprise,
as the horse drew near the young soldier pulled up and slid quietly to
the ground.
The next instant he came up toward Nona.
"You will pardon me," he said, speaking English, although with a
noticeable accent, "but it will not be wise for you to continue to walk
any further along this road. It is growing late and there are stragglers
coming in from several villages where a German raid is feared."
He had taken off his pointed Cossack cap of lamb's wool and held it in
his hand as though he had been a young American meeting a group of
friends upon an ordinary thoroughfare.
Barbara was struck by the incongruity of his appearance and his
behavior. He looked like a half-civilized warrior of centuries ago, and
yet his manner was the conventional one of today. However, it would not
be wise to expect him to remain conventional under unusual conditions.
Barbara could see that the young Russian officer was a son of the east,
not the west. He had a peculiar Oriental pallor and long, slanting dark
eyes, and his small black moustache scarcely concealed the thin red
lines of his lips.
Nona was frowning at him in a puzzled fashion.
But the next instant she bowed with an expression of recognition.
"Thank you, we will do as you suggest. It is odd to see you so soon
again after our unexpected meeting the other afternoon. Lieutenant
Orlaff, this is my friend, Miss Meade."
Barbara inclined her head, too surprised to do more. But as the Russian
officer continued to walk beside them with his horse following, she soon
understood where he and Nona had met each other.
"Yes, she is an old friend, Sonya Valesky. I knew her years ago and then
she went away into other countries."
The young Russian hesitated. Barbara and Nona were both watching his
face closely, so that they could see the cloud of doubt, even of
struggle, that swept over it.
"You are strangers in my country, but you have come here to help us in
our need," he protested, almost as if he were thinking aloud.
"I would not have you doubt my friend. I cannot explain to you, and
yet I wish to warn you. Do not be too intimate with Sonya Valesky.
Russia is not like other countries in times of war or peace. She has
many problems, tragedies of her own to overcome which the foreigner
cannot understand. Forgive me if I should not have spoken."
Then before either girl could fully grasp what the young man's confused
speech could mean, he had bowed, mounted his horse and ridden off.